


Coming out

by revoleotion



Category: South Park
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Coming Out, M/M, Modern Era, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-29 09:50:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13924626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/revoleotion/pseuds/revoleotion
Summary: “My name is Gregory Thorne, I’m 27 years old and I am… bisexual.”He blinked at himself in the mirror. “Oh hey, by the way, I am bisexual.”Even worse. Gregory sighed and moved the cell phone closer to his face. A man with prominent ears, a cigarette in his left hand and a worried expression on his face looked at him.“Zat was a disaster, really. You were right. Never come out in public.”





	1. Coming out 1

“So, are there any questions?”  
A girl with short, pink hair and glasses she probably didn’t need raised her hand.  
“Yes… Leslie?”  
“Do you have a girlfriend, Mr. Thorne?”  
The following silence was so loud that he wanted to press the hands against his ears, just to stop existing for a few seconds. But this was not his own flat, this was a class full of students in their first semester. Some of them were not even eighteen. He didn’t remember being such a noisy piece of shit but he remembered others.  
“Any relevant questions. About the exam.”  
“Do we have to know the whole French Declaration of Rights by heart? This is politics, not history.”  
He would never say it out loud but Gregory was happy about her rude behaviour. His panic disappeared and made room for the arrogant smile he was famous for. “Leslie, as your tutor I cannot decide what the professor wants you to know. But even if I were a professor, I would always consider the Declaration of Rights as the most important document. Any relevant questions?”  
A teen with braces raised their hand slowly. “I’ve heard you were part of a revolutionary group when you were a kid. How did that work?”  
“I have a feeling that you want to fail that exam. Am I such a good tutor that you don’t have any questions for me?”  
“Probably, Mr. Thorne”, the student said shyly.  
“If that’s the case, good luck, this class is over. I’ve got a doctoral thesis to write.”  
“I thought you already had one”, Leslie mumbled, obviously disappointed in the lack of in-formation he was willing to give.  
“If it wasn’t for this second thesis I would’ve left this university years ago”, he answered while packing his things peacefully. The class exited the room, leaving him in silence. “Kids”, he muttered to himself. “That’s why I never want to be a professor.”  
_Well, that and my sexuality_ , he thought as he closed his briefcase.

“Good evening, dear.”  
“Dear my _ass_.” Christophe was sitting on his bed, he could see the posters on the wall behind him. Despite sitting in a weird position to be visible on the camera, he seemed relaxed. Amused, even. Gregory sighed.  
“Language, dear. Don’t act like one of my students.”  
“Zat bad of a day, ‘uh?” His friend moved and examined him closely. Gregory could feel the stare; in this years of physically absence of his friend he never missed him so much as he did now.  
“Bad day”, he agreed and wondered why he still felt guilty for admitting it. “How was yours? Did you find a job?”  
“Somezing like zat, yes.” The stare became more intense. “’ow’s Wendy?”  
“The cat or the human?”  
“Cat.”  
He turned around to see if the black ball of fur was doing anything other than sleeping. As he turned back to Christophe, his eyes took longer than usual to get used to the small screen. He blinked. “Hold on. I’ll get myself some water.”  
“What’s ze matter?”, Christophe asked instantly, voice becoming more worried than he’d ever admit. When it came to worrying, Christophe never admitted anything.  
“It’s nothing, I’m just a bit-”  
“When was ze last time you took a break from writing?”  
“Christophe, I swear to God, I’m fine!”  
“Do not misuse ze name of zat piece of sheet.”  
Gregory sighed again. The worst part of arguments like this was that Christophe probably was right. But on the other hand, the Frenchman didn’t sleep more than five hours a night; why worrying about him when he had his own problems to face? “I’m a grown man, dear”, he said as he got up and took his phone with him.  
“I can see zat”, the other man hissed.  
He took some time to reach for a glass and to put water in it. He heard French curse words he luckily didn’t understand and by the time he walked back to his desk, Christophe had stopped talking.  
“Look, I just need to get that chapter done.”  
“If I were wiz you, I would slap you right now.”  
Gregory stopped and narrowed his eyes. “Ah, yes? Why don’t you just come for a visit and I’ll show you that I am able to- _shit_!”  
With a loud sound that almost made him drop the phone, his glass shattered on the floor. “Shit, shit, shit”, he mumbled, while carefully placing the phone on his desk. “Wendy, no!”, he yelled at his cat who was inspecting the situation. She jumped backwards and hid at the couch, eyes glowing offendedly. He kneeled down and tried to pick up a shard but stopped as a sharp pain ran through his hand.  
“Shit”, Gregory repeated.  
“And you tell me not to curse”, Christophe joked. Gregory had never felt less like laughing.  
“I cut my hand and I… I cannot see-”  
“You cannot see blood? For real now? After all zat you’ve done?”  
Gregory inhaled deeply. He felt hot, cold and dizzy, all at once. “You… you were hurt during the war”, he stammered.  
“Greg, zat was ages ago…Greg? Greg?!”

The next thing Gregory remembered, was the hospital. Apparently, someone from France had called the ambulance because he had heard him collapsing during a phone call. That someone hadn’t answered any text messages or calls after that, besides sending a “good” after Gregory told him he felt better again.  
Days went by and the only positive things were that Wendy didn’t break anything while being home alone and his whole tutorial passed the exam. To his surprise, Gregory managed to find a daily routine that didn’t hurt him. He slept, he ate, he took the took the iron pills he had to take now and he cut down to writing one chapter of his thesis a week. But something was missing, it was strange not to skype until 3am, not to fall asleep next to Christophe’s pixelated face.  
And then there still was the old question. How to come out? Did he want to come out? Was he ready to come out?

January ended and February started, and the longer his thesis got the more he missed Christophe and spending the evenings talking with each other.

_The influence of M.A.C. on the censoring of film and television reached its peak on the June 30th, when “Terrance and Phillip: Asses of Fire” reappeared in a shortened version in local cinemas (PARKER 1999: 3). From this moment on, actions of the organization focused on ex-ternal plans like executing Terrance and Phillip, resulting in the American-Canadian War (STONE 1999: 217)._  
_PARKER (2016: 66) stated that despite its effect on society, M.A.C. does not have any impact on modern censorship. The_

Someone knocked. Twice.  
Gregory inhaled deeply and pressed his hands to his ears; of course, this was unnecessary, it was just a housemate who had accepted a delivery, maybe even someone in need of sugar. He lowered his hands, got up and smiled at Wendy before walking over to the door.  
The door viewer didn’t show anything. He counted to three, then he opened the door.  
A well-known face looked at him.  
“Good evening, dear”, Christophe said, “would you take my bag? Eet’s ‘eavier zan eet looks like.”


	2. Coming out 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christophe showed up and he's got a plan. Also: Awkwardness. A lot of awkwardness.

_“Good evening, dear”, Christophe said, “would you take my bag? Eet’s ‘eavier zan eet looks like.”_

_  
_ His eyes started burning until the first tear ran down his cheek. “Take your shoes off”, was the only thing he could say before taking the bag and running to the living room. As Christophe entered, he was sitting on the couch, trying to understand why his brain wouldn’t work, why his face was wet, why he was trying to disappear and why he had troubles breathing.   
“I imagined zis differently”, Christophe said softly.   
“You could’ve texted me! I thought I upset you so much that you never wanted to text me ever again!” Words left his mouth in waves, but he suddenly stopped as Christophe raised his voice.   
“I knew you would not like my plan, zat ees all. I needed ze strenz to pull it zrough.”  
“Wait, that’s it?” His voice cracked and made room for unstoppable laughter.   
“Yeah, what else did you expect?”  
“ _Everything_! Christophe Delorne, how dare you disappear from my life like that! You could’ve at least texted me a ‘good morning’!”  
“Well, now I am ‘ere and I am ready to take care of you.” The Frenchman looked into his eyes. “You look better.”  
“Like I said, I can do that alon-”  
“I did research. Eet is holidays at ze university.” Christophe stood up and started searching for something in his bag.   
Gregory watched him and petted Wendy. “There are no holidays when you write a thesis”, he gasped for air and decided to say it, “dear.”  
“I know you do not ‘ave a car but zere is a train leaving tomorrow zat brings us to ze coast-”  
“Christophe…”  
“No, you are not getting to decide zat. Eet is going to be one day. Don’t do ze Hamilton.”  
“The… Hamilton…?”  
“See, I even listened to zat. Got myself ze recordings to listen to.”  
Ignoring the strange feeling he got, Gregory nodded. “Then let’s take a break, dear. Do you want to pet Wendy?”  
Christophe didn’t say anything, probably because of the plants next to the window he was watching with horror. “Idiot, what ‘ave you done to ‘em?!”  
“I might’ve forgotten to water them”, he admitted. “Do you want coffee, dear?”  
“Get me an energy drink and a watering pot.”  
“Energy drink? Really?”  
“Better get me zree of zem, I will need ‘em. And so do you because ze train leaves at zree in ze morning.”  
“Dear! What am I going to do with Wendy?”  
“I asked your neighbour, eet’s fine.”  
“ _What did you tell her_?”  
“I said: Gregory and I are gone tomorrow, would you take care of ze cat? And she said yes?” Christophe stopped as he saw that he was shaking with emotions he couldn’t describe. They made him choke on his fear, his fear of ruining everything he stood for and everything he had ever accomplished. “Oh, you never told ‘er?”  
The Frenchman didn’t need an answer, his face seemed to give him everything he needed. “Oh”, he said again.   
“If I told anybody… they would write about me. Horrible things. They did it to a mate of mine, they wrote things and he never published anything again because… There’s no university that takes a gay professor, Christophe.” He felt something salty on his tongue until he realized that he was crying again, bitter, silent tears. “I don’t want them to do this to me.”  
“For real now?!”  
“I am scared”, he whispered.   
“You zink zat zey are going to ignore your genius because you’re bisexual?”  
“Yes, I am! They are going to! Dear, don’t you see, there is no way out of this!”  
“Well, go date a woman zen.”  
He felt like throwing up. Christophe’s words had been stronger than a punch in the stomach.   
“I love you”, he said and noticed that it was the first time saying this, “but it’s not safe for me to do this. Not now.”  
“Fine. Energy drinks and a watering pot eet ees zen.”  
Gregory got up. As he walked by the mirror on the way to the kitchen he noticed that he had stopped crying. His reflection looked different, prouder than usual. “One day I’ll come out”, he whispered to himself. “And now I need to find a way to get energy drinks.”

In the end, he walked a kilometre to the only store that was still open at 11 pm, bought everything he thought was helpful when doing a trip, and walked home again. In all those years living there, he had never rung the bell of his own flat and that was probably the weirdest thing about Christophe’s visit.   
The Frenchman looked excited as he gave him one of the eight energy drinks he had gotten at the store. “I didn’t ‘ave one in ‘ours”, he commented as he opened it and drank up all of once. Gregory, who had witnessed this on Skype only, was slightly impressed.   
“If I stand correct, we have two hours until we have to leave if we want to get to the train station in time”, he told Christophe as he started searching for his bag.   
“Great.”  
“Would help me cut an apple and get the biscuits from the pantry?”  
“Get ze what?”  
“Biscuits?”  
“What ees zat supposed to be?”  
“I’ll say this once, and never again, are we clear?”  
“I guess…?”  
To Gregory’s amusement, Christophe looked scared as he waited for the next words to come.   
“Cookies.”  
“Why didn’t you say zat in ze first place? I know what a damn _cookie_ ees!”  
“IT’S NOT A COOKIE, IT’S A BISCUIT!” Gregory stopped yelling, remembering himself that it was midnight and he was yelling at his _boyfriend_ who was here for about an hour now. Would he expect a kiss? The thought was freaking him out more than he would ever tell anybody. “Also, in case there are any gummy-”  
“I packed some, eet’s alright.” There was embarrassment to Christophe’s voice but that was nothing compared to awkwardness Gregory felt as he realized his mistake.   
“Bears!”, he blurted out and wondered if he would ever recover from this situation, “Gummy bears, Christophe!”  
They looked at each other, and in an attempt to drown the feeling he got, Gregory opened one of the energy drinks and took a sip. First, it was awfully sweet; it tasted like melted sweetener, but he got used to it faster than he had imagined. It lacked the bitter taste of coffee he loved so much but at least he didn’t have to look Christophe into the eye.   
“Apple”, he mumbled the moment he was finished, placed the empty can next to Christophe’s one and escaped to the kitchen.  
“Found ‘em”, his friend told him some minutes later; Gregory could hear a box of biscuits and gummy bears (he would never touch those again) being thrown into his bag.   
“Thanks, dear!”, he answered.   
“Ees zere anyzing else we need, now zat I am ‘ere?”  
‘Water’, Gregory wanted to say but he remembered that he hadn’t gotten any bottles lately. “Is there grape juice?”  
“’ow old are you again?”  
“Twenty-seven, why?”  
“I am not packing juice, like a… old man.”  
“ _Excuse_ _you_ , at least I am trying to be healthy! Also, grape juice contains a lot of iron which I need so you don’t have to call an ambulance again, dear.”  
“Fine”, Christophe said after another awkward pause. Gregory heard the juice joining the biscuits and the other candy. He put the apple slices into a lunch box and walked back to the corridor again, afraid of what he would see on his friend’s face the next time he looked at him.   
“Greg, maybe you do not need zree books- are you okay?”  
“Do you want us to do something like this?”, he asked before he could stop himself, “I mean, this is the first time we see each other after _La_ … _La_ _Resistance_ , and I don’t want… I don’t know…” Whenever he tried talking about this, whenever he even thought about this, there was a part of his brain that stopped working. Because this part of his brain wanted to make him believe that Christophe had died. That he wasn’t real. That he couldn’t be real. But at the same time, his friend _was_ real, his voice was real and so was the love he felt for him.   
But something had happened, eighteen years ago, something he still didn’t understand.   
Christophe blushed under the freckles and the mop of hair. “I don’t know what I was zinking, Greg.”  
“… oh.”  
Christophe tapped the ground with his foot and stopped abruptly. “Forget zat zey are zere, alright? ‘ow much time do we ‘ave left?”  
Thankful for the topic change, he looked to the clock, just to realize that they had to leave in half an hour. They packed the rest of the things in silence; Christophe made sure every plant in the flat was watered while Gregory texted his neighbor what to pay attention to when taking care of Wendy. To his surprise, she was still awake, so he forced Christophe to go over to her.   
And after he had checked every window and every socket in the flat, he closed the door behind them and took a deep breath. “I am sure this is a mistake.”  
“Eet sure ees”, Christophe agreed.   
“Bye, thesis”, he said.   
“I’ll help you wiz eet”, the Frenchman promised. “I won’t leave until you are safe.”

The train left in time, and Gregory who began thinking that this could be a rather weird dream, noshed his apple slices and watched Christophe trying to convince his old MP3-Player to work. In the end he gave up and stole an apple slice.   
“Are you trying to listen to Hamilton, dear?”, he asked as a joke.   
“I bought zis, I should be able to listen to eet.” Frustrated, Christophe opened another energy.   
“I have got the recordings on my phone, in case you want to listen to them?”  
The Frenchman almost spilled the drink as he started laughing. “Ees zere anyzing you don’t ‘ave anywhere?”  
“Condoms”, he said louder than he wanted to.   
Christophe stared at him and shook his head. “Don’t tell me zat zis ees your first.”  
“My first what?”  
“Energy. Please, tell me zat.”  
“Well… technically, this is my first one.” The words made him giggle. “Just like you’re my first love and my first spontaneous trip, isn’t that great? Why do I sound drunk, what IS in those things?”  
“Oh my God, end me please. I do not know you.” Christophe got up but stopped as he grabbed his arm.   
“Stay”, he whispered in his best Maria Reynolds impression.   
“No.”  
“You’re responsible for me! Are energy drinks dangerous? What if something happens to me?”  
“Greg, I swear to _God_ , ze only way you can get ‘urt ees by saying cheesy sheet. Because I will punch you for eet. Zis ees zin ice, Greg. Very zin. Can I get a cookie?”  
“Biscuit”, he muttered but fished the box out of his bag.   
He didn’t really feel like he was drunk. This felt better. Lighter. Maybe it wasn’t the energy drink at all, maybe it was sitting in a train together with his boyfriend, driving into the night. Maybe it was knowing who he was and not hating himself for it.

“If you were a Founding Father, which one would you be?”  
“I ‘ereby suspend you from ‘aving any more energy drinks”, Christophe muttered and looked up from the newspaper he was hiding behind. Gregory was sure that he didn’t actually read it, because he hadn’t turned a page in half an hour. They were almost there, in twenty minutes they would reach the coast. And it was four o’ clock now. He hadn’t been awake at this time for weeks, not since the accident.   
“It doesn’t work like that. Now, tell me: Which one?”  
“T. Jeff”, the Frenchman mumbled, “Satisfied now?”  
“Never. Why Jefferson?”  
“’e’s French, what ees zere more to say?”  
“I think Burr suits you.” He sat up straight and stared into Christophe’s brown eyes, wondering if it was possible to drown inside them. “I mean, talking about the musical, you know.”  
“Yes, sadly I do know. Why Burr? I do not even smile.”  
“You smile a lot when you look at me.”  
To his surprise, Christophe turned red and hid behind the papers again. After some time, he mumbled a “not true”.   
“Of course, it’s true.”  
“Eet’s not. And who do you zink you are? Alexander because you cannot shut up?”  
Deeply offended, he crossed arms and waited for his friend to apologize. Apparently, Christophe hadn’t planned on that, so he decided to pluck in headphones and listen to the Cabinet Battles until he came up with a witty response.   
“You’re okay, Greg?”, the Frenchman asked after a while.   
“I don’t know. Are we really doing this?”  
“Yes, we are.”  
Gregory smiled. It felt good not being the one to decide in which direction he had to go now.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Again, thanks for reading. 
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: bad english, even worse french accent, Hamilton references, homophobia, cursing, energy drinks, drama


	3. Coming out 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gregory tries to enjoy his forced vacation but the bad memories won't stop. Also: Drama. A lot of drama.

He was shaking as they left the train. He was cold, tired and full of adrenaline at the same time. In all those weeks without Christophe he hadn’t touched anything unhealthy so the caffeine and the sugar worked even better – or worse, considering that he needed sleep by now.   
It was five in the morning, the sky was dark but he was sure that there’d be sunlight in a few hours, shining into their faces.   
But like bright and displeasing sunlight in his eyes, a thought struck him. “Christophe, where are we going to sleep?”  
“Do not worry, I know a way.”  
“You saying it like this _makes_ me worried.” His thoughts were off, slower than normal, but his instincts told him that something about Christophe’s face was wrong. He was lying to him. His words right now might’ve been true but he had lied before.   
“Non, Greg, not like zis.”  
“Not like this?” He crossed arms. As he stopped right before the exit of the train station, he felt bad for blocking the non-existing people who arrived at this stop in the middle of the night. But he stopped, because he was a genius after all and he knew humans more than he normally admitted. “Tell me, how is it?”  
“Do I look like someone zat does not sleep outside? I carried a shovel wiz me for twelve years, Greg, I know how to find a place to sleep.”  
“We are _not_ ”, he stressed that, in case Christophe wanted to ignore it, “sleeping outside. I have money. Just tell me, where you want to go.”  
“Ees zere anyzing I can do wizout your ‘elp?!”   
“Christophe, you-” For a moment the energy drink had no effect whatsoever. He stood still, breathed calmly and turned his head until he stared at his friend. “without you I’d be… nowhere near where I am now. You make me feel alive and-”  
“Enough, I get eet. _God_ , why did you do zis to me?”  
“Christophe, I’m serious.” He offered the Frenchman a hand and smiled as he accepted it. “I’ll follow your plans. But let me pay for that hotel.”  
His friend looked down to his feet. “I am sorry.”  
Gregory wanted to hug him, touch him, feel him and tell him that being here with him was and would forever be enough. But instead, he walked over to the exit, pulled his phone out of his pocket and googled a hotel for both of them.

 

They did not talk much after this. Gregory decided that they checked in later so they could enjoy the sunrise for now. For the first time he felt awkward around his friend. They hadn’t met since _La_ _Resistance_ and after they both had moved back to their home countries, there had been no reason to stay in contact. Luckily, they had done it anyway. Thinking about a life without Christophe made him nervous. But thinking of him as a part of his life was just as scary because it meant that he’d be outed sooner or later.   
He could convince Christophe to breakfast in a small café near the coast; his stomach and his brain were thankful for the smoothies he ordered. Because his friend kept on staring at his smoothie, he also ordered pancakes for him.   
“I do not get you, Greg”, he said while not just eating but murdering the food.   
“Are you talking about the hotel?”  
“I am talking about your breakfast.”  
“What’s the matter with it?”  
“Everyzing ees ze matter wiz eet, Greg. You cannot be happy wiz… I am not going to pronounce zis.”  
“Well, I care about myself”, this sounded like a lame excuse but there was no other reason behind it, “being healthy is important to me.”  
Christophe bit his lip and looked down to his plate. “You ‘ave money and you order a pressed banana.”  
“That’s why you…” He pushed the menu closer to his friend. “Can chose whatever you want. I’m happy with my _smoothie_.”  
“Zis ees not what I meant.”  
Gregory shivered at the intensity of his expression. Everything about Christophe was defensive. There it was again, the feeling that he might’ve lied to him; a lie of omission that is. He stared back, realizing that it was on him to fix what was wrong right now.  
“We can have chips later, if you don’t mind.”  
The Frenchman smiled for a short moment. “You really do not see eet.”  
“I don’t see what?”  
“Tch.” Christophe finished his smoothie and killed the last pancake. “You might be a genius but you still can be an idiot, beetch.”  
He smiled but didn’t answer, fingers drawing patterns on the table. His mind drifted away and he enjoyed the silence once again. Whenever he did this, Chris would call it “thinking”; it wasn’t as strange as it sounded, most of the time he thought about his thesis or his friend. And then there were those other times he didn’t want to happen.   
“Are you zinking, Greg?”, Christophe asked after some time.   
“Mhm.”  
“Good or bad?”  
“Good, for now.” He looked up. “Are you still hungry?”  
“Non, how about you?”  
“No, why?”  
Christophe stared into his eyes, searching for a sign that he really was okay; apparently, he found it because he nodded and got up. As Gregory payed for the meal, he felt that the man kept staring at him, with a sad, maybe angry, glance he still couldn’t understand.

 

“The sea is beautiful. Almost as beautiful as…”  
“Do not say eet.”  
“… Wendy.”  
“You did zat on purpose.”  
“I admit it.” Gregory inhaled the cool air and while he still was wondering why he had never been here before, Christophe hugged him from behind.   
“You are an idiot, Greg.”  
His mind formed the words his mouth would never say out loud, not in public, not in a familiar environment at least. But this was different, he felt safe in here, in the hug and at the beach. Their fight seemed ages ago. They watched the sunrise, standing next to their bags and shoes, feet touching the cold sand. Everything around Gregory was cold but he didn’t feel it at all. This feeling, warm and bright, something other’s might call love, was wonderful.   
“I’m your idiot, Christophe.”  
“My idiot? What about Wendy?”, Christophe mumbled against his shoulder.  
“Wendy is a cat.”  
“You know zat I do not mean ze cat.” Gregory was sure that this was the first time he had ever seen his friend being jealous; but on the other hand, he hadn’t seen much of him during the last eighteen years.   
“You mean the girl I had a crush on when I was nine?” He sighed as he remembered her, him, the kids they were. “We haven’t talked in years. Why do you ask?”  
“Who did you talk to?”   
The question confused him. He knew what Christophe wanted to ask, of course he knew, it wasn’t that hard, the problem was that he didn’t knew an answer that would satisfy his friend.   
“It’s not like I don’t know anybody. There’s…”, he paused, “I have a lot of friends at the university. People like me.”  
“I am sure zey do.”  
“And now you want to know who I like, am I right?”  
“No, you made zat pretty clear. I know enough about you to know zat you do not _like_ people. But I zought, Wendy and you were similar, zat ees all.”  
“We were! Maybe I should call her again.” He smiled but as he stared into the golden sunlight, he was sure that this wasn’t what Christophe had been trying to tell him.

 

“I need a break.” He gasped for air, pressed a hand to his shoulder and massaged the spot where his backpack had hurt him.   
“Pussy”, Christophe muttered but stopped walking. His face didn’t look tired at all but his eyes gave him away. The sleepless night was taking revenge.   
“Let’s eat lunch and get some rest”, he decided, “what time is it?”  
“You ‘ave a watch, look for yourself.”  
“I don’t have a watch.”  
“Why ze fuck not?”  
“Because you always tell me to wear one.” He winked. Christophe sighed.   
“Twelve… and fourteen minutes. I get lunch and you buy a fucking watch.”  
“Dear, it’s not like I don’t _own_ a watch. But I have a phone-” His friend pressed a finger to his lips and made a “shh” sound. Gregory flinched, scared of being muted, no matter in which context. His friend pulled the hand back and scratched his head.   
“Sorry. A watch can save your miserable, friend-less life. You wanted fries for lunch?”  
“… What?” He stared at Christophe for some more seconds, trying to figure out if this had been a joke or not.   
“Ees zis anozer ‘cookie’ or ‘biscuit’ zing because at zis point I regret asking Stanley for ‘elp wiz my English…”  
“No”, he interrupted the Frenchman and ignored that he had been taught English by Stanley, “I’m talking about the ‘friend-less’ part.”  
Again, he rubbed his shoulder. Now, not only his back but his head hurt. Something about Christophe’s words were true; he had never escaped irrational loneliness of _South_ _Park_. The town was present, wherever he was. Like in Stephen King’s _IT_ , the small town he had only lived in for a few months, still was a part of him.   
He was lonely. So was Christophe. They had connected via solitude from the start, no matter how well-liked or overprotected they had been. This solitude had never disappeared. Gregory’s intelligence made him isolated. Christophe’s bitterness made him an outcast. But somehow, their minds had found each other, eighteen years ago and now again. They had each other.  
They could exist, survive without each other – but Gregory was sure that he only _lived_ because of his French friend.   
“I did not mean it. I am sorry.”  
“Don’t be”, he whispered, “It’s true.”  
“Gregory-”  
“There’s a shop that has to sell chips. Do you eat fish, dear?”  
“Ees zat a real question? Why would I not eat zat?”  
“Because nowadays it’s A”, Gregory paused and smiled, “acceptable to be vegetarian or vegan and B… normal to have certain preferences when it comes to food.”  
Christophe stayed silent for some seconds, biting his lip, obviously trying not to say whatever he was thinking right now. In the end, he repeated “nowadays” in a sarcastic way and left it there.   
At this point, Gregory started wondering, if he was constantly messing up something he didn’t understand. Apparently, eighteen years were a long time; and Skype had only shown him a small part of the man he loved.

 

The hostel was small enough to be comfortable for Christophe and extravagant enough to be comfortable for Gregory. They had a room for two with their own bathroom. It wasn’t bigger than his flat, but Gregory felt less overwhelmed, possibly because they had entered the apartment together.   
“It’s nice”, he said and sat down on an armchair near the bed. It felt like the worst idea he ever had because now that he was sitting, his body refused to get up again. “What do you think?”  
“What should I zink?”  
“Pardon?”  
“What do you want me to say?”  
Confused by the question, he shrugged and played with his air. Christophe’s words hurt but not as much as the thought he had seconds later.   
“Do you think I’m self-absorbed?”  
The Frenchman put down his bag and shrugged, expression softening a bit as he realized that he was serious. Normally, Gregory looked down on his friend, literally, but now Christophe was the one looking down on him. “I do not know. Do you?”  
“I put so much effort into how I appear to others, is that a bad thing?”, he asked. He hadn’t thought about this recently and it still blew his mind how much nervous this thought could make him. Arrogance was one of his traits he hated the most, and he hated his intelligence for noticing it.  
“So what. You look good anyway.”  
He sighed, planning his next words like he would plan a speech. “What am I doing wrong, Christophe?”  
“’ey, I really do not care-”  
“In general.” Despite being nervous like he was teaching a rather unpleasant group of students, he stayed calm and even smiled a little. “For example, when I asked you about the fish and when you said I didn’t have any friends? And I think even during breakfast you were… different. Now that I think about it, it started when I told you that I wanted to sleep here. What am I doing wrong?”  
“Nozing! … and everyzing.”  
His hands almost touched his ears but Christophe pushed his arms down carefully as he noticed the movement. Embarrassed by this sign of weakness, Gregory didn’t protest; this was one of those rare moment of not thinking anything at all.   
“Let me explain, please”, his friend whispered. “Ees zat okay?”  
“Sure”, he said quietly.   
“Eet’s really ‘ard to compete wiz you, no matter what I do. And zat ees okay! Most of ze time!”  
“Compete? I don’t think I get what you mean.”  
“I am jealous!” The moment those words had escaped Christophe’s mouth, he stopped and pulled out a cigarette.   
“Don’t”, Gregory demanded softly, recognizing the gesture. “What are you jealous of?”  
“Oh, I do not know, you ‘ave a job and you can pay for everyzing you need and you ‘ave a ‘ome-”  
Again, his friend stopped.   
“A _home_?”, Gregory asked. “Why didn’t you tell me…”  
“Would you want to ‘ear such a zing? I wanted you to relax, zis are not really relaxing news, huh?”  
“I’m your partner…”  
“Eet’s not about trust, believe me.” Christophe sounded miserably and for a moment, it seemed like he wanted to beak something. “I did not want to ruin zis for you.”  
“This?”, he asked with a shaky voice.   
His friend ignored it, he started walking around and pulled his hair.   
“I messed everyzing up in France. Ze moment we leave zis place, I do not ‘ave a ‘ome anymore.”  
“That’s a lie, Christophe. You have me.”  
“Because you ‘ave nobody else. Zat’s why.”  
He didn’t answer, looked down to his hands and took a deep breath. Disappearing into thoughts right now, thinking about complex theories and linguistics would be so easy. Being himself had always been difficult but now it was unbearable. He felt wrong, out of place but at the same time, he knew exactly what he wanted to do now. He was going to change. It had started the moment Christophe had knocked on his door.   
His life was changing, so why shouldn’t he start changing as well?  
“I am going to cut my hair.”  
Christophe frowned.   
“By yourself?”  
“No, you are going to help me, dear.”  
The man looked at him, those brown eyes full of emotions he normally denied. “I trust you wiz zis but if you ‘ate me for letting you do eet-”  
“It was my idea. I won’t hate you for it.”  
The Frenchman cleared his throat and grabbed one of his curls. “I trust you”, he repeated and to Gregory this was the closest to a “I love you” this man could ever get.   
“I trust you too. But still, don’t screw it up.”

**This was better than a “I love you”, he decided. An “I love you” can start a war. An “I trust you” can win one.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: language, bad writing, really bad french accent, drama, mentioning of food and unhealthy diet, cutting hair, even more Hamilton references
> 
> Thanks for reading. You pals are great.


	4. Coming out 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gregory finally understands without really understanding. Also: Irrationality. A lot of that.

“When smart people get happy, they stop recognizing themselves”, he whispered to his reflection.   
“Zis quote makes you a nerd”, Christophe whispered back.   
“I know.”  
“Do you like eet?” Angst was floating his voice; Gregory was sure that in this moment, Christophe expected him to go off like a timebomb. The shaky fingers, holding a cigarette he didn’t light up yet, gave it away as well.   
“I decide that after we got some sleep. Do you want to smoke outside?”  
Christophe, the man who smoked through most of his childhood, who never even calmed down to sleep, shook his head and smiled. “Maybe later.”  
“Maybe later” turned out to be a “seconds later” because after all, not everything had changed.   
“Do not touch an energy as long as I am outside”, the Frenchman said and stared at him one more time before leaving the hostel room. Gregory turned back to the mirror, looked at his reflection and tried to figure out if the person smiling back was really him.   
“Good morning, students”, he greeted loudly and chuckled because it was so absurd yet _possible_. His fingertips touched the short curls, then his cheeks and his lips. This was him, this was the version of him he had become.   
This was Gregory Thorne, a bisexual man that loved Christophe Delorne more than anything else. This was a man that loved the French Revolution and the English language, coffee in the morning and tea in the afternoon. This was a man that would try to archive his goals, no matter what.   
He sat down on the bed, leaned back until he could see the ceiling and smiled. For some seconds, his mind was quiet.   
But then, the old memory stabbed him in the back; he inhaled just to realize that there was no air to breathe.   
**~~something about this wasn’t right  
christophe was supposed to be dead~~**  
Gregory got up. Images flashed in front of his face, and as he closed his eyes, they got worse. There was blood. There was a body, Stanley’s eyes full of guilt, Eric’s voice-  
No. His friend was alive. There was no reason to think that he was dead. He wasn’t dead.  
****~~but why was there a corpse?~~  
“He’s alive”, he mumbled, just to hear his voice. It didn’t help; it even felt less real. He knew that he couldn’t cope with seeing Christophe now, his brain would shut down; he knew it somehow. But he didn’t have any other contact in his phone beside his partner, some colleagues and students, former classmates and… the last name, the girl he had a crush on when he was nine.   
He closed his eyes as he clicked on her name to call her. He didn’t even know where she was at the moment. She could be everywhere, with everybody. But since she was born in _South Park_ , Gregory was sure that she had never been able to leave this town.   
“Marsh, Wendy?”  
He took a deep breath, clenched his fists and pressed the phone closer to his ear. Some seconds passed, then he whispered a “pardon” and hung up the phone. His fingers were shaking. He had been wrong; this town wasn’t a part of him anymore. He had to find out by himself. He had to believe it by himself.   
After a last glance at the mirror, he put on his coat and took their keys.

“Christophe?”  
His friend was looking at the stars. He hadn’t noticed that it was so late already, and he loved the dark sky and the calmer atmosphere. It didn’t always seem like this but Gregory was a night owl; the night was quiet and soothing.   
“Gregory?” His friend eyed him up. “Are you okay?”  
“Y- no. I remember…”   
Christophe caught him as he fell, held him and called his name, quietly, then anxiously. They sat down together, his friend wrapped his arms around him and kept on asking him if he was okay. Gregory wished he could answer, but all he could do at that moment, was trying not to black out because he was sure that in this case he would forget immediately.   
But in the end, he gave up and closed his eyes.   
****~~christophe was dead~~  
christophe was alive  
Memories weren’t real.

 

The sky was bright and the air was cold yet refreshing. Gregory bent down to pick up a shell, then he drew “ _La_ _Resistance_ ” into the sand, followed by a “ _Gregory_ _was_ _here_ ”.   
“Very mature, Greg”, Christophe told him and smiled a little. It was the first smile Gregory had seen that day; most of the time, his friend had stared at him with an unusual worried expression.   
“ _I_ _love_ _Christophe_ ”, Gregory wrote into the sand and put the shell into his pocket.   
“You are being silly right now.” Christophe reached into his bag, pulled out their water bottle and handed it over to him. “You should drink something. I do not let you collapse again.”  
“You say that like it happens daily. I’m fine.”  
“Eet ‘appened twice now. Drink ze fucking water.”  
He nodded, surprised by the seriousness and emptied the bottle. “Do you have anything planned for today?”  
“Non, I was more worried about you. But”, Christophe took the bottle back, “I zought about sitting down somewhere. You need rest.”  
“Dear, I swear, I’m fine! How about we take a walk?”  
“Not today, Greg. I am serious. I told you I would take care about you and zis ees what I am going to do. Now.”  
“You say it like I’m the most irresponsible human you know. I have a PhD.”  
“And I care about you.”   
They stared at each other. Christophe looked away first. “Listen, if anyzing ‘appened to you…”  
“I trust you with that. Really”, Gregory said with a smile. “You’re an excellent bodyguard and an even better soldier. Thinking of what you did…” He stopped, confused by the feeling he got when thinking about this. Christophe looked alarmed and worried but didn’t interrupt him. “for me. You did so much for me.”  
“I know”, his friend answered with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.   
“That’s still a No, isn’t it?” Gregory halted and looked at the sea again. It was way too cold to swim in it but a part of him desired getting into the water and enjoying that he couldn’t hear down there. “In that case, why don’t we get a blanket and sit down?”  
Christophe seemed to think about it but smiled after a short while. “You tell me if you get cold, got eet?”  
“Got it”, he answered.

Gregory wanted a red and black blanket but the only one that came close to his favourite colours was orange and brown. He bought it anyway, along with a bag of crisps for Christophe, dried fruit for him and enough to drink for both of them. His friend watched him and it was probably due to what happened that evening that he didn’t roll his eyes as Gregory tried on the most ridiculous sunglasses he could find in a gift shop. The British genius wasn’t sure why he was in such a weird mood. He wasn’t exactly happy but he felt like his brain was trying to convince him of it. Maybe this was what life was supposed to feel like, a life outside the university or his flat, a life with somebody he could joke around with.   
This was the first time it really occurred to him that he might’ve been lonely.   
“Kay, are you done?”, Christophe wanted to know as he put down the glasses.   
“Mhm, do you want to send a postcard?”  
“To what ‘ome, exactly?” The man frowned.   
“Our home, Christophe. Pick a card, would you?”  
The Frenchman turned away and walked over to the postcards; first, Gregory wondered why he acquiesced so quickly but he understood the moment he saw the man wiping his face. He decided not to comment on it. Christophe’s eyes were still wet as he handed him a card. Gregory payed for it, then they walked back to the beach in silence.   
“Dear…?”, he asked after some time.   
“Spare me ze pity, Greg.”  
“I don’t want to pity you. There’s still a lot to do before you can really move in, maybe I need to find another flat but that’s not the point, I… I wanted to tell you that you can be sure that wherever I am, can be your home. If you want to, of course.”  
“Of course”, Christophe repeated and turned his head.   
“Do you want me to leave you al-”  
The man hugged him without any warning. Gregory squeaked a little but returned the hug, one hand holding their bag, the other one touching Christophe’s hair. “You are… incredible”, mumbled the man, barely audible.   
“I know”, he whispered back. “But you made me that way, soldier.”  
“Was zat a reference?”  
Gregory was glad that Christophe couldn’t see him blushing. “I would never… intentionally.” Maybe this wasn’t true. Maybe he had turned out to be the man who made book and show references because they had become part of him. “Let’s sit down…?”, he tried to drop this subject.   
Christophe released him and carefully touched the short hair. “I did a good job.”  
“Yes… yes, you did.” Gregory couldn’t tell if he was referring to the haircut as well.

 

The sun shone brightly from the cloudless sky; but it wasn’t necessarily warm. Gregory leaned against his friend’s shoulder and smiled softly as Christophe played with his short curls. Everything was perfect, but one thought didn’t stop forcing itself into his mind.   
“Christophe, do you actively remember what happened when we were younger? Especially… at the war? Whenever I think of it, it’s… blurry and something feels wrong about you. N-Not in the way you think, don’t think of it the wrong way…” He stared at his hands and kept on mumbling until his friend said: “I know what ‘appened”.   
“You… do?” He kept looking at his fingers, because after all, this was his way to disappear when things got too fast. Christophe lighted up a cigarette and inhaled deeply before speaking again.   
“We are now texting for…”, the man hesitated, “seven years? Zen… I found out seven years ago.”  
“What did you find out?” His voice was so quiet he almost didn’t feel his lips moving. He focused on the smoke, not sure if he was ready for the words Christophe said seconds later.  
“I died at ze war.”  
He pressed his hands to his ears before Christophe could stop him from doing it, but his eyes kept on staring at the man. He wouldn’t lie to him. It had to be true. Slowly, he dropped his hands and nodded. “Yeah… that explains a lot.”  
“Does eet?”  
“No. Not at all. You are real, right? Why are you alive?”  
“Zat ees ze part I found out”, Christophe muttered and his dark eyes were cold and scared, “ze zing ees… you will not understand eet.”  
“Why not?”  
“Eet’s somezing you cannot understand. I zink zis ees ze reason you freak out so much because of eet. You try to understand.”  
“Of… of course I do! I understand things”, Gregory said loudly but deep inside he knew that Christophe was right. Living in _South_ _Park_ had taught him two things. First thing, everything was irrational. Second thing: Trying to understand something in this town made you go insane. Everything he knew about the way people worked, didn’t apply to this town.   
“Okay”, he said slowly, “I’m ready.”  
Christophe smiled a tiny bit, it was the smile he showed others when they said something positive about God or that the French language was beautiful. It was sarcastic and even though the man had always been nice to Gregory, the sarcasm he revealed when talking to anybody else showed through sometimes. “After ze war, eet was like eet never ‘appened, huh?”  
“… yes”, he answered, trying to understand while forbiting himself to do it.   
“Eet never ‘appened”, Christophe said and continued smoking, eyes looking at the sea.   
Gregory looked at his hands. The thoughts were silent. “I remember it.”  
“You do.” Christophe’s dark eyes stared at him again and he shrugged. “I do. And ze kid zat set ‘ees fart on fire.”  
“Is it a conscience that he was the one who started the war?”  
“You are zinking.”  
“Sorry, I can’t… okay. Irrationality”, Gregory pressed a hand to his mouth to stop himself from talking nervously. Seconds passed and he nodded. “Okay. You died.”  
He accepted it. It was something he couldn’t change. He felt less nervous; it was like a puzzle piece had found its place. Now, he was sure about it, he was able to forget.   
“I cannot see blood”, Gregory mumbled after some time. “Do you think…”  
“Probably”, Christophe interrupted him, expression softened. “But believe me, I am alive. And I am fine.”  
“Mh, let me make sure.” Gregory touched his cheek, once again wondering how a face that was so young could seem so _old_ , and looked into his dark eyes. “I’m not fully convinced yet. Is there anything you could do to prove that?”  
Christophe Delorne sighed, bit his lip and then… he kissed him.   
Gregory was shocked; he had wanted this but now that it happened, he couldn’t do anything other than just staring at him. It wasn’t his first kiss, but it was the first one he actively enjoyed. Kissing Wendy had been awkward, it had felt like kissing himself or at least a female version of himself. But Christophe was different. He didn’t try to seduce him with his kiss, he didn’t want to make somebody else jealous with it; this was simply a kiss and nothing more.   
Christophe was the one to stop it again, staring at him in shock and disbelief.   
Gregory’s lips started tickling, he carefully touched them with his fingertips and smiled. Whatever he felt right now, he wanted to feel it again. “I believe you now”, he whispered.   
“Zat was… okay?” Christophe’s voice was shaking but his eyes looked like he was happy, deep inside where he stored those happy feelings he didn’t believe the world granted him.   
“I wasn’t sure until now. But yes, very okay.”  
The dark eyes were full of relief and Christophe leaned back, looking at the sky and maybe even smiling a little. Gregory couldn’t help it, he stared at him and touched his hand.   
“Christophe?”  
“Yes?”  
He came so close that his lips almost touched his partner’s face. He could feel the short curls and the wind on his face. He closed his eyes.   
“I love you. One day I’ll come out”, he whispered into Christophe’s ear. “But not now.”

**~ Leo**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Irrationality, mention of blood, lesmis and Rick and Morty references, drama, smoking, memories, bad writing, really bad french accent, a first kiss
> 
> I'm going to be honest, I don't like this ending. I hope, you enjoyed anyways. Yes, I'm going to write more about this AU but not now.   
> Lg Leo

**Author's Note:**

> So, first of all: Thank you so much for reading this! To me, it means a lot. I love Gregstophe and since I'm a university student that has to deal with coming out a lot, I love how this fanfiction turned out. Some things I've mentioned make sense later but knowing what happened in "Bigger, longer and uncut" can help a lot. Please not that I'm from Germany and that I never learnt French, so basically, I don't know anything about what I'm writing. At all.  
> I called Gregory "Thorne" because first of all, this was the first fanon last name I read, second of all he's working at "Yardale", why should be named after the university he's working at?
> 
> Maybe some trigger warnings: My Gregory has a complicated relationship with unhealthy food. It's subtle but sometimes it's enough to make me uncomfortable when writing it. Also, blood is mentioned, along with the weird irrationality of South Park which can make you uncomfortable as well. Ah, yes, and cursing and religion.


End file.
